


Rainboots in the Summertime

by tinymarvels (Captain_of_the_sass)



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Kaiju, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Depression, Group Therapy, M/M, Newt is very sad sometimes okay, Past Character Death, Single Parents AU, Uncle Newt, but it gets better, disaster first meeting, divorced dad Hermann
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 23:40:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20455469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_of_the_sass/pseuds/tinymarvels
Summary: Newt's son looks like a mess; clothes mismatched, hair unbrushed, backpack haphazardly hanging open. As far as first impressions go, the one Newt makes on Hermann could stand for some improvement.





	Rainboots in the Summertime

**Author's Note:**

> This has been rattling around in my brain for ages and it's the perfect break to work on between chapters of Half Life.
> 
> Please heed the tags because there's gonna kinda be some suffering in here in order to get to the happy ending.
> 
> Songs that got me going for this chapter:   
"Creepin Up The Backstairs" by The Fratellis  
and the total opposite song lmao: "Silhouette" by aquilo

He feels lost. Set adrift in the middle of the sea, the bobbing waves making his stomach churn. The hospital is a buzzing of frantic activity and Newt is ready to fucking lose it. Doctors and nurses are swarm all around him but none of them so much as spare him a glance. He used to love crowds; love the noise and the press of bodies in close proximity. Concerts and parties and all that shit. But here it feels suffocating; Newt's choking on it. He can't even grieve, can't even cry, because if he does he has no one to hold onto. No one to bring him back from the edge if he lets himself slip over it. The only people in the world that could comfort him in times like this are....they're- Someone speaks to him, finally, but he's lost all ability to process. Newt follows the doctor, listless. 

They let him say goodbye. A swollen face, broken and bruised. Dark hair matted down with sweat and tears and blood and fuck, _nonononono _-

"Uncle Newt? Uncle Newt!" 

Newt startles back to reality at the sound of horns blasting behind behind him, casts a glance at the rear-view mirror and catches Flynn's worried eyes.

"Sorry buddy," Newt rasps, "There was, uh. A little turtle in the road; I was waitin' for him to finish crossing, y'know?" The lie is so weak that even the six year old boy doesn't buy it, dark eyes impossibly wide. Great job, Newt. The light is green, apparently has been for a while, and with a shaky sigh Newt presses the gas. The school parking lot is suspiciously empty when they pull up and Newt has the sinking realization that they're late. 

"Come on, man, out you go, we're runnin' late, pal!" 

He has to force himself not to interfere as Flynn slowly and carefully manages to unclip and extract himself from his car seat. The tongue lashing and vehement _ "I can do it myself!" _ Newt had gotten the last time he'd tried to help had been warning enough. Sometimes Flynn deigns to allow assistance when buckling in, but unbuckling was strictly a No-Newts-Allowed zone. Lesson learned. 

As soon as the kid is free Newt scoops him out of the car and gently deposits him on the sidewalk, the move coming complete with a _ woosh _ of rocketship sound effects courtesy of Newt. They make it about three steps before he realizes they're missing something and has to scramble back to the car to grab Flynn's backpack. It's unzipped (fantastic) and Flynn's Transformers notebook and pack of crayons are, of course, on the floor instead of inside with the rest of his stuff (also fantastic). Newt grabs it all and takes Flynn's hand. 

"Come on, Flynn Ryder, light jog pal. Gotta go fast." 

Flynn doesn't really laugh at that, too busy clumsily hobbling along while trying to stuff his arm into his jacket, which is...inside out. This is a disaster. They miraculously make it into the school without either of them falling on their face, but Newt has no idea where to go from there. There's a sign marked _main office_ with an arrow pointing down another hallway so Newt makes a mad dash for it. He's breathless when he gets there, and Flynn is still struggling with his jacket. There's no one at the front desk so Newt finally, _ finally _, has a precious second to spare. He uses it to kneel down and carefully pull the sleeve the right way 'round before guiding Flynn's arm through. He's relieved the kid doesn't pitch a fit at the assistance, instead seeming strangely pleased at having Newt's attention, if only briefly. Kid properly dressed, Newt arranges his backpack onto him. He stands back up and for the first time realizes they're not alone. There's a man sitting, staring at the wall. Immediately Newt has the bizarre thought that he's looking at an elderly man somehow trapped in a body no older than Newt himself; like some kind of Freaky Friday type deal. 

"Hey, dude," Newt says. The man doesn't react. "Um. Hello?" finally that head turns in their direction and Newt finds himself swallowing, mouth suddenly dry. Old Man Soul is actually kind of hot, in a weird sweaters-with-plaid way. Dark eyes, dark lashes, and a jawline so _so_ sharp- Oh god. Newt clears his throat, jerks his head toward the empty front desk, "Uh...any idea when they'll be back?"

The man honest to god scowls at him, fingers tapping on his cane. His eyes rove over both Newt and Flynn and so obviously finds them lacking. Newt can imagine what he sees- Flynn with his clothes completely mismatched, backpack half zipped, hair unbrushed with dark tufts sticking every which way. Newt himself can feel toothpaste dried at the corner of his mouth and knows the remains of the pop-tart he'd scarfed down during the drive are probably scattered all over his shirt like evidence at a crime scene. Suddenly Newt wishes he could sink away and disappear. Not too long ago he would have puffed out his chest and asked _ what the hell are you staring at;_ but now he just wishes he could crawl back into bed and never leave. Screw stupid annoying hot guy. 

"She needed to visit the copy machine," The man answers after a pause, surprising Newt with his accent, "She should be returning shortly." there's a moment where the guy seems to war with himself, then he speaks again, "I take it you are here for the first day of class."

"Uh, yeah. Yep." Shit, why does he feel so nervous? 

"You are twenty minutes late."

Newt's eyebrow twitches, "Yeah, thanks." Thank you, Captain Obvious. A tiny hand clutching at his arm draws his attention away momentarily.

"Are they going to kick us out?" Flynn whispers fretfully. It's a skill he hasn't quite mastered yet; Newt knows there's no way their less-than-welcoming company didn't overhear it.

"_What_?" Newt blusters, as if the idea itself is simply scandalous. There's an infusion of cheery bravado in his tone that he dredges up from deep inside, "Of course not!"

"That man said we're late. We'll be in trouble!" and oh god, the tears are welling up in those big huge doe eyes. Newt can't do the tears right now. He turns and gives his very best manic _ fuck this up and I will kill you _ smile to the guy in the chair.

"They don't kick people out for silly things like that, right?" Newt asks him, very _ very _ sweetly. Newt swears this guy is about to fuck him over, but then his dark eyes slide over to Flynn and it's like the man's whole expression melts into something shockingly tender. He smiles kindly, these stupid cute little crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. His voice is unbelievably gentle as he says, 

"No, they would never. You seem like a very smart young man, I'm sure your teacher and classmates will be delighted to have you with them." When he cuts a glance back at Newt though his expression is notably less impressed, "You should, however, do your best to be on time from now on." he's still speaking in that gentle tone so that Flynn is none the wiser, but the adults both know that the words are a thinly veiled jab at Newt. It sinks under his skin, has his hackles rising.

"Okay, you know what, man-"

"Oh my, there you are," a voice says. The tension fizzles out abruptly as Newt turns to see a sweet looking woman with greying hair entering the office, "You must be Flynn. Mr. Lambert gave me a call this morning asking me to keep an eye out for you." She smiled warmly and Flynn waved, uncharacteristically nervous.

"Is he mad?" Flynn asks again, and _ wow _ does Newt feel like the biggest asshole in the world.

"Oh, no, Sweetie! Not at all. My name's Ms. Warbler, I've worked the front desk here for a lot of years and I promise you, no one here would ever get mad at a sweet boy like you!" she takes a moment to hand a packet of paper over to the man Newt has forever labeled Sexy Grump,

"Here you are, Mr. Gottlieb. Everything you need should be in there."

Sexy Grump- Gottlieb, apparently- nods politely and promptly sank all his attention into studiously inspecting each page.

"Now, how about I walk you down to the classroom?" Ms. Warbler asks. She shoots a smile at Newt, as if silently asking permission, and he gratefully (and with a great deal of relief) returns it.

Newt expected some kind of dramatic goodbye. A huge bone-crushing hug or a tearful _ Don't go _. Instead Flynn seems to completely forget his existence, and Newt's weak "Have a good first day of school, bud." falls on deaf ears as Ms. Warbler and the boy disappear down the hall. 

Newt is left standing in the office, feeling numb and bereft. Behind him Gottlieb flicks to another page.

"Your shoes do not match." he informs dispassionately, not even deigning to glance up from his reading. 

"Oh gee," Newt snarls, high-pitched and near hysterical with irritation, "You know what? Thank you. Thank you _ so much _ for letting me know. What a _ swell _ guy you are." 

For a moment, just a split second, Gottlieb looks suitable chastised. Then his expression hardens. "Perhaps you should consider the example you are setting for your child."

And that- that hit him. Dug into something in Newt's rib-cage like a knife. He knows he should make nice. Knows that this could come back to haunt him; the last thing he needs is an email from Flynn's teacher about causing a scene on school grounds. But he can't help the way that "Fuck you, grandpa," just slips out. Gottlieb actually physically jerks back in surprise.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Newt growls, "Fuck you and your outdated fashion. You're like Mister Rogers, if Mister Rogers was a dick." And boy if that isn't a very un-neighborly thing to say, but Newt just can't find it in himself to care at this point. He leaves Gottlieb sputtering behind him, just barely managing to resist the urge to flip the guy off on his way out. 

When he gets back to the car Newt just sits there for a minute, resting his forehead against the steering wheel. Breathing in. Breathing out. So they were a little late. Honestly, things could have gone way worse. Newt had gotten up early, packed him a homemade lunch with fruit and vegetables and the whole shebang. Flynn made it safely to school with his backpack and his- fuck. Flynn's notebook and the pack of crayons are still clutched in Newt's hand. And god, Newt just starts laughing. The sound is wild and loud, torn from his throat in ragged bubbles of sound. The whole drive home he can't seem to make himself stop, randomly bursting into another fit every time he thinks he's finally finished. He doesn't stop for good until he's pulling into the parking lot of his apartment complex. No kid ever flunked first grade because of some missing crayons, right? Ha. 

Newt trudges up the stairs, fumbling to take his shoes off in the doorway to his apartment. And would you look at that, Gottlieb was right. He has a slip-on sneaker on one foot and a rainboot on the other. Since when does he own rainboots? This is a question for Later Newt; definitely not one for Right Now Newt. Right Now Newt needs sleep, well. Right now. He makes it as far as the couch and doesn't move for the next three hours. 

  


"Okay, so his favorite movie is The Iron Giant. I've got spaghettios in the pantry in case you don't feel like cooking dinner, and he can have, like, I dunno. One small snack before bed? But for the love of Godzilla don't give him anything caffeinated. I made that mistake and then he wouldn't go to sleep for ages. I- shit, I never really established a bed time? Usually I just wait ‘til it gets dark, I really gotta get on that, the parenting books all say that structure is really-"

"Newt," Tendo finally, thankfully, interrupts, "It's gonna be fine. Go out, do what you gotta do. I got this." Flynn is sitting in the living room, X-box controller in hand, absorbed into the world of Minecraft. The name of the game with them is always distraction; keep him from realizing Newt is leaving until he's already gone. It sounds cruel, but it's worked surprisingly well. Before the strategy was implemented Newt leaving was...not good. The reaction was far from pretty. But, with the way the kid left him behind at school that morning it seems maybe the worst of it is behind them. Newt still doesn't want to risk a Category 5 meltdown tonight, though, so he slips away after ducking in for a quick hug from Tendo.

"You need this, man," Tendo whispers, "You gotta take care of yourself sometimes too, y'know?"

Newt smiled weakly and gave a mock salute as he stepped out of the apartment and quietly crept down the stairs. 

* * *

Hermann has never been much for sharing his personal life with strangers. Something about opening himself up, about letting other people get a glimpse inside, made him want to recoil. The single parent support group had been Vanessa's idea. She's been worried since the divorce. Says that children can sense when their parents are unhappy, especially children like Irene, and that Hermann is very obviously unhappy. He wants to be angry with Vanessa. It's only natural he be unhappy, afterall. The best days of his life are behind him; his marriage has failed, his work is dull, and his closest friend is the woman who left him. Irene is the only good thing in his life, and if it's for her then he supposes he can sacrifice one night a week and_ try _. He's been coming for six months now and though he's yet to personally see any improvement he must admit that Irene seems...happier. Whether or not his attending therapy is the cause remains to be seen. A frequent attendee, Dawna, whom Hermann has come to recognize fairly well has just begun speaking when the door bangs open. 

The entire circle of people turn to look. Whoever he is, the man looks lost. Possibly homeless. He's bundled in a much too large sweatshirt, hands jammed in the pocket, head kept low as if he’s evading the authorities rather than interrupting a group therapy session. There's something a little familiar about him that Hermann can't quite pinpoint until the man speaks.

"Sorry," he says, "Sorry, had to- the babysitter. I'm- I'll just sit." that head finally comes up and there he is- the man from Irene's school who had the gall to insult him and then run that morning. The man doesn't seem to have noticed Hermann is there, or possibly doesn't recognize him, because he busies himself clumsily (and noisily) dragging a chair into the circle. Hermann is sitting across from the man and finds himself blatantly staring. He looks...different from the morning. As if all the life has somehow been drained out of him and sitting there was only an empty husk. Without the light of anger (or the bright smile he'd worn for his son) the bags under the man's eyes are horrifically apparent. His hair still remains a mess. Hermann recalls the way the son's hair had stuck up, making them look almost comically similar. 

When the pair had first blown into the school office Hermann had, apparently incorrectly, assumed that he must have been one of those _ far too busy _ type fathers (_Lars, Lars, Lars_ that rude little voice in his head whispers) that typically leave their wife to do all the parenting. Incorrect assumption or not, Hermann could never imagine allowing Irene or himself to fall into such a haphazard state.

"Ooh, we have a new member," Dawna announces needlessly.

Herc Hansen, who runs the group sessions, smiles at her, "Would you like to continue, Dawna?"

"Oh no, I'll get back to it. Why don't we get to know the new guy, huh?"

Said new guy looks about a second from bolting.

Hansen seems to sense this, tone carefully casual as he says, "Could you tell us your name an’ a bit about yourself?"

The man in the sweatshirt waves half-heartedly. "Hi. Um. I'm Newt. Nice to meet you guys. Uh, I'm a biologist. I was teaching for a while, way over at MIT. But I'm...sort of taking a break from that right now." The man- Newt- shrugged. "That's about it, I guess." 

Biologist? MIT? Hermann finds himself gaping and hastily tries to settle his face into an expression that looks a little more dignified. There is no way this- this _ Newt _ was a professor. But even so, there was something in the man's voice that had Hermann...unsettled. Something distant and numb and almost frighteningly lifeless.

"Would you like to tell us why you've decided to join us?" Hansen coaxes.

"Honestly, I kind of came here because my friend Tendo told me to. He says that I need some time to myself, to relax. Which is weird, because I feel like this is going to be the opposite of relaxing. No offense."

"None taken. You think that your friend is right? D'you think you need to relax more?"

Newt slumps in his seat, hands stuffed back in his pockets as he stares at the floor. "I dunno, I guess? It's not like I don't ever have time to just sit around and chill, y'know. Flynn, he's- yeah. He went to daycare for a while, and now he goes to school and I get to....sit on the couch a while."

"And what do you do while he's at school?"

Newt frowns. "I just told you, I sit on the couch."

"You don't do anything else?" Mark, another group member, butts in with a little chuckle. Newt visibly flinches and for a moment Hermann is overcome by the desire to interrupt, to take the group's attention onto himself so that Newt might look even a little less like a cornered animal. Or, perhaps, to whack Mark in the shin with his cane.

"No, dude. I just kinda sit around. Sometimes I watch TV, but mostly I sleep. I, uh. I'd rather not talk so much about myself tonight. If- if that's cool."

"Of course," Hansen agrees easily, "Do you want to take a break, or could I ask one more question?"

Newt seems torn. He drags his shoe, both matching slip-ons this time, against the linoleum. "I guess one more would be okay."

"Would you tell us about Flynn, Newt? Doesn't have to be anything big. Maybe if he plays sports, or has any hobbies; whatever you want."

"Oh. Yeah, sure. Flynn, he. Well, he loves Transformers. He watches it every Saturday. The cartoon, not. Not the Shia Labeouf one. He doesn't really do sports I guess, but...he and his mom used to watch these Kendo videos together and he sometimes used to run around pretending. He's, um. I mean- technically we're not related. It's-" Newt tugs his hands out of his sweatshirt and drops his head into them. "It's a long and sorta complicated story."

Hansen nodded, "We got plenty 'a time to spare," his head swivelled around the circle of faces, "Any objections?" a round of head shaking made Hansen continue, "Go ahead, Newt, if you feel comfortable." 

Hermann hates how intrigued he is, how much he wants Newt to just open his mouth and speak. It's morbid to have such a fascination for what is clearly hurting this man, and Hermann wishes fervently that something had come up that night. Wishes that he had never shown up to this session. He could have gone about his merry way and continued to be sound in his knowledge that this Newt was a terrible asshole. Newt opens his mouth. Closes it. Nervously runs a hand through his unkempt hair, bumping his glasses. 

"Sure. What the hell, fortune favors the brave 'n all that shit. So, Flynn is not actually my...my son. He's, like, my nephew. Sort of. I met his mom when we were in college, we actually became pretty tight. I think my relentless desperation for friendship wore her down," Newt laughed a little, a tiny raw sound, "Anyway, when she met Raleigh I kind of expected her to forget I existed, but she was. Well, Mako was really cool. She introduced me to him; was actually really excited for us to get together and hang out. Raleigh didn't like me at first but we....we got pretty close." Newt looked like he was going to say something more on that, but instead changed tracks, "When Flynn was born, Mako and Raleigh made me his...I donno, like his godfather? They weren't really religious or anything, but it was like this big thing, like they were showing me how much they wanted me to be in their lives. Flynn grew up calling me Uncle Newt, y'know?" There's a weak smile, there and gone, before it melts away into a blank slate of nothingness. Newt's voice goes eerily hollow, eyes staring at nothing. "They died...Mako and Raleigh. I was babysitting Flynn 'cause they had these date nights every Friday. A truck driver fell asleep at the wheel and ran them off the highway."

Hermann was staring. Everyone was staring. Newt shrunk in on himself. 

"I think I'd like for someone else to talk now." he whispers.

Without any further prompting, Dawna started speaking.

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe leave a review, lemme know what you think? 
> 
> I feel super bad killing off Mako and Raleigh but I couldn't see being able to take the story in the direction I envision without them as a catalyst, my bad. If you're wondering about why Newt was the one given custody of Flynn I plan to address it in a later chapter.
> 
> Check my PacRim twitter out if you want: @GenderfluidNewt


End file.
